


In Too Deep

by seraph7



Category: Eastern Promises (2007), Generation Kill
Genre: Alternate Universe, Crossover, Journalist!AU, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2010-09-14
Updated: 2010-09-14
Packaged: 2017-10-11 20:00:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,476
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/116500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seraph7/pseuds/seraph7
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nate Fick is an investigative journalist delving into the Vory v Zakone. Brad Colbert is a cop trying to bring them to justice. But who is Nikolai, the family's mysterious driver and what side is he really on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Story Of A Lifetime

Nate Fick barelled through the doors of the Channel 4 offices with only ten minutes to spare. After swiping his electronic pass through the reader and greeting Mia the receptionist, he opened the door of his office , hoping against hope that Ray Griego wasn't there, tutting and looking at his watch like Nate had committed the cardinal sin of being late for work.  
"Hiya, Nate. You look a bit frazzled."  
Thank God, it was only his desk mate Mike Wynn.  
"You could say that," he said dumping his laptop and his messenger bag on the table. "The Tube was a mess. Someone threw themselves on the tracks at Pimlico so all the northbound trains were screwed. Took me nearly two hours to get here."  
"Thought you might need this before you go into that editorial meeting. It's going to be a long one. Godfather's briefing us all. Looks like something big's going down." He handed Nate a steaming Starbucks cup and a paper bag.  
"You're a lifesaver Mike, did I ever tell you that?" he said, taking a grateful gulp of cappucino letting the caffeine hit his system and blow the cobwebs away. "What? I thought the meeting was at 2 o'clock? That's what the schedule says."  
Mike grinned. "It got changed last thing yesterday. Mia told me this morning as I came in."  
"Nice of them to let us know."  
"Yeah. Eat the bagel as well, you need to keep your strength up, Nate."  
"What would I do without you?" he asked, around a huge bite of bagel.  
Mike shrugged, modest all of a sudden.   
"Let me buy you lunch, it's the least I can do." Nate urged.  
"You don't have to do that-"  
"I want to-"  
"OK. You twisted my arm." Mike said reluctantly. He looked at the clock with a sigh. "Are you done yet? We'd better get into the meeting before Griego throws a shit-fit."  
Nate sighed, draining the last of his coffee . No point in delaying it any longer. "Come on then. Let's find out what Godfather wants this time."

 

They gathered round the table for the editorial meeting. Nate was glad to see that most of the other correspondents had been caught on the hop and had to rush to get there.   
"Anyone know what this is all about?" asked Patterson, biting into a cinnamon Pop Tart as he found a seat next to Mike and Nate. " I had just enough time to get here."  
Mike shrugged. "No idea. Godfather had a bee in his bonnet we all had to be here.No excuses. That's what I heard from Mia."  
"Would have been nice if he let us know a bit in advance about the meeting then. It's not Mia's responsibility to act as informal PA, cook, and general bottlewasher, because the higher ups can't organise themselves and give us proper information. After all we're only journalists. Why would we need to know anything?" grouched Tim Bryan informally known as 'Doc ' by the rest of the staff.  
"Shush, he's coming!" hissed Mike as their Editor in Chief walked in, followed by Craig Schwetje, his deputy .   
"Good morning, Gents." The room fell silent as he addressed them in that familiar sandpapery rasp. "You might be wondering why I called you all in this morning especially when we've established our main stories we're runing this week. Well, I have a dynamite lead on a huge story I want covered in conjunction with The Guardian. We're going to run a series of programs on the new wave of Eastern European crime families settling over here and bringing their business to the capital."  
"The Mafia? In England?" asked Kocher.  
"Oh no, this isn't the traditional Mafia." Ferrando said almost as if he was enjoying it. "These guys are far more dangerous and savage than the Mob have ever been. These gangs are are new wave of crime to hit the streets. Drug running, robbery, human trafficking, murder. This group is known as the Vory v Zakone-" He wrote it on the white board in capital letters.  
Nate felt the start of foreboding creep into his gut. As soon as he heard the name, he knew he was going to be involved. Whether he liked it or not. Everybody knew he'd minored in Russian Language and Literature at university. He wasn't completely fluent, but compared to the rest of the group he was an expert. Perhaps they'll just have me in the office translating the information feeds. Nate knew enough about the Vory to be apprehensive of Ferrando's bright idea.  
"Russian gangsters?" Across the table, Dave McGraw looked appalled. Nate could swear his face had taken on a green and unhealthly tinge. "The Mafia?"  
"Yes, McGraw, what is it?" Ferrando did not take kindly to people interrupting his briefings.  
"They're pretty brutal characters, Mr Ferrando. Very violent types, sir." said Dave, flinching as Ferrando fixed his gaze on him.  
"That's why Mr Ferrando wants us to investigate them, Dave." said Schwetje complacently sitting back in his seat.  
He really doesn't get it, does he? Nate saw Mike scribble in shorthand across the top of his steno pad.  
You think? Nate scrawled back, hoping that he couldn't read his outlines upside down like his old shorthand teacher at college.  
"You haven't seen that video, Sir? 'Two Guys, One Hammer?'"  
"What are you talking about, man?" Godfather was losing patience with McGraw. "Stop blethering!"  
Dave gulped uncomfortably, pulling at his collar. "It's a video on the Internet of two guys beating this poor bastard to death with a claw hammer in a forest. It was foul."  
There was a collective wince rippling round the room. Dave looked so nauseated, Nate thought he was about to start crying. "They showed no mercy. Just kept beating the crap out of him, over and over again."  
"Jesus-" Patterson said to himself. "What animals."  
Ferrando was the only one in the room who was unperturbed. "That's the group we want. I need someone to infiltrate them and give me the inside track on their campaign. The angle that none of our competitors would have the balls to pursue. We'll get it. But we have to act quick."  
Dave was practically rocking in his seat in distress. Even the other writers, who tended to mock him for his tendency to freak out at the slightest hint of danger on an assignment, were silent and wide eyed.  
"Frankly gents, I'm not hearing the aggressiveness I'd like. We need this exclusive. I'll be damned if the BBC or Sky News get their mitts on this one. They're screwing us up the arse without lube ratings-wise at the moment. This will be a guaranteed ratings winner for the channel."  
They kept their heads down as Ferrando worked himself up into a familiar rant. They heard it all before. You're journalists. Damn it, we need this story. Do I have to do everything round here? You lot have got it easy. No thirst for a story. Call yourself journalists! You all have it easy nowadays. In my day, we had to burn shoe leather to earn our stories. No 'looking up things on the Internet and cut-and –pasting it together'-  
"Say, Nate?" Griego said , with a sly edge. "You're fluent in Russian aren't you? I'm sure you majored in it at that fancy pants university you went to?"  
He looked up sharply with a glare. Trust Griego to drop him in it in front of everyone, especially Godfather. The last thing he wanted was to draw negative attention to himself, when he'd just come off the graduate scheme.  
"Is that right?" said Ferrando. "I'd forgotten about our new lad's talents. Perhaps a college education is good for something, eh? Let's face it, it would be a great addition to your portfolio."   
"Just imagine having a byline like that, a clip on your showreel. Really put your career on the map, Nate." chimed in Schwetje. "- This is the story of a lifetime for you."  
Doc's outraged voice came from the back of the room. "That's all right for you to say, Schwetje. You're not the one being pushed into a journalistic shitstorm without any regard for your personal safety. Nate is still training. Just because he passed the graduate scheme doesn't mean you can send him on a dangerous undercover mission, up against the Vory. Has anyone considered that? Who's going to keep him safe?" He could see Patterson and Kocher nodding their heads, agreeing fervently.  
"Now Bryan, that's out of order-" started Griego, pompous as ever.  
Doc was uncowed, staring the other man down. "Why? Because I'm addressing the question no one else wants to ask?" he shook his head, expressing his disgust. "You fuckers will do anything to get that all elusive scoop and you don't care how you get it , do you?"  
"That's enough, Bryan." Though Godfather's voice was quiet, his authority was unmistakable, and Doc subsided. "Oh Nate, may I speak to you after the briefing please?"  
Nate's heart sank, but he answered Godfather with his usual politeness. "Yes, Mr Ferrando."

 

Nate felt like he was going before the firing squad as the other correspondents filed past him at the end of the meeting. The feel of Mike's hand giving him a consoling squeeze on the shoulder and a whispered 'Chin up, Nate' made him feel like a condemned prisoner on the bench.  
"Nate?" Godfather sat on the desk in front of him, silk tie loosened, and fixed him with those famously penetrating blue eyes. His voice was deceptively kind, but Nate wasn't fooled for one second. You didn't stay at the top of the notoriously cut throat journalistic profession for twenty years without developing a ruthless streak a mile wide. Nate knew that in a choice between his personal safety and getting the story, the story would win. Every time. No contest.  
"Quite an animated briefing today. I wanted to know your thoughts on it."  
Griego was in there before Nate even had a chance to reply. "Bryan was quite out of order today. The way he spoke in the meeting- We should start disciplinary proceedings against him right away. He can't be allowed to question orders like that, challenging authority. He's too damned big for his britches. Just because he's got a couple of awards under his belt-" he chuntered away, his face getting flushed with anger.  
Nate privately doubted that would happen. Sure, Doc Bryan was outspoken to a fault and seemed to spare no one the blistering edge of his tongue, but everyone was fully aware that he was one of their most popular journalists with a massive fanbase, steadily climbing ratings and critical acclaim. Godfather was hardly likely to sack him for daring to speak his mind. The channel desperately needed him. Griego just likes to make trouble, exactly as he did for me at the meeting. He didn't have to say anything. Now it's my arse on the line instead of his.  
Godfather levelled his ice cold stare at him , and even Griego had the sense to quail.  
"If I want your opinion on how to run my editorial team Griego, I'll ask you for it. Until then, kindly shut the fuck up." He rasped.  
"Yes, Sir." He said grudgingly.  
"Good." He said dismissively turning his back on him, directing the laserbeam on his attention back onto Nate. "I need someone competent on this assignment, and you are uniquely qualified to help us deliver a shit-hot story. You speak Russian, don't you?"  
"A bit," Nate hesitated. "I'm a bit rusty since I left University and joined the graduate scheme."  
"I know we can count on you not to shirk a challenge to advance your career." said Schwetje, butting in to give his two pennies worth. Godfather merely gave him a look and continued.  
"Oh, you'll pick that right back up after a couple of weeks on assignment. In any case we've hired an interpreter to help you translate the audio and video you'll be gathering from our targets. Say hello to Meesh-"  
He indicated a plump dark haired man with scruffy curly hair that brushed his collar, a fat moustache and a tie dyed orange and lilac tee shirt adorned with a glow in the dark marijuana leaf and the legend 'Let The Sun Shine In.' His heavy lidded eyes stared vacantly at him. Nate seriously wondered whether he was high at the moment.  
"See Nate, we have considered everything-" said Schwetje complacently.  
Nate decided to bite the bullet. "Have you taken any measures to secure my safety whilst on the case? I'll take the assignment, but Doc Bryan and Dave McGraw raised some serious concerns in the meeting, and I'd be lying if I said I wasn't worried about it."  
Godfather and Schwetje exchanged a look. Nate's heart plummeted. They haven't even thought about it.  
"We're working on it, Nate." Schwetje said rather lamely. " We are. Be assured of this-"  
Nate tried to suppress his growing lack of confidence in his leadership by getting down to it. There was no point in moaning about it. He'd just have to find a way through this. Somehow.  
"When would you like me to start, Mr Ferrando?"  
Godfather gave it some thought, clearly relieved that Nate had agreed to take the case and he hadn't had to browbeat him.  
"We'll give you a week and a half to wrap your life up and go undercover. Say the 19th ?"  
Nate nodded. Not long at all.  
"I know you won't let me down, son." said Godfather, clapping a heavy hand on his back and nearly making him buckle. "There's a reason you passed the graduate scheme, Nate. We only keep the best. Remember that."  
Nate felt the expectation weighed down on him like a burden of stones on his back, but he tried to smile.


	2. The Guardian Angel

By the time Nate met the guys for lunch, he could tell they had been discussing the situation frantically by the way they fell silent as he appeared.  
"Mike, what're you having for lunch?" he asked, trying to ignore the way they all looked apprehensively at him, their grave faces drawn.  
"Did you take the asssignment, Nate?" Mike asked. "You were in there a long time with Godfather and Schwetje."  
"Didn't have much of a choice." Nate said evenly, siting down and looking at the lunch menu. "What are you having? Have you decided, Mike?"  
Doc was fuming as he tucked into his lasagne and chips. "They shouldn't be doing this! They know it's fucking wrong to just dump a graduate on a mission like this, no matter how good he is, but they still insist on throwing you to the wolves for a bullshit exclusive. Have they no idea how dangerous this is?"  
"Isn't there something that could be done? Speak to the NUJ Rep, or-" Mike said anxiously.   
"Are you having a laugh?" Doc sneered. "The Union? Those fuckers are worse than useless. All of them in Management's pockets. They ain't gonna save Nate's arse. No offence-"  
"None taken." Nate said.  
"Those guys, these Vory v Zakone, are no joke." said Patterson seriously. "I know we rip the piss out of Dave McGraw all the time for his crazy conspiracy theories-"  
The others chuckled, remembering some of Dave's finest moments.  
"-But seriously, " he continued. "for once, he's right. And God knows, when Dave McGraw is the sanest person in the room, then you know you're in trouble."  
"Those guys are hardcore violent motherfuckers." agreed Kocher, who had more cause than anyone to agree to the batshit craziness of Dave McGraw. After all, he worked on the same desk as him, day in and day out. "Be glad you never saw 'Two Guys, One Hammer', Nate. It was disgusting, a horrible way to die." He looked up at Nate, vivid blue eyes in deadly earnest. "Did Godfather tell you what safety measures they put in place to protect you from repercussions? 'Cause trust me, if these fuckers find out your plan, you'll need one."  
He felt the ridiculousness of Management's assurances more than ever. He should have pressed them, refused flat out to do it unless they had a serious plan to defend him if he was going to go deep undercover and risk his life on a story. He just knew as a graduate, he didn't really have a leg to stand on if he did.   
Journalism was a competitive business and it'd be no skin off Godfather's nose to sack him and get some other bright-eyed kid to replace him. There were seventy-five applicants for each of the ten positions available in the newsroom, and of those ten, he was the only one who had been given a permanent contract.  
"They're thinking about it. Considering their options-" he said, his voice trailing away. "I am assured of this-"  
"You are having a laugh?" Patterson stared at him, dark eyes wide.  
Doc was not remotely fooled by Nate's attempt at stoicism and broke into grim laughter. "You're fucked, Nate. Jesus Christ , you're well and truly fucked."  
Eric decided to take action, pulling out his phone and punching in a number. "I can't let you walk into this blind, Nate. I don't want it on my conscience. It ain't right-"  
The other gave a murmur of agreement , and Nate realised they'd probably decided to do this for him already as a collective. He was touched that they would put themselves out to help him.  
"I'll phone one of my friends and see what he can do for you. I served with him in the Marines, he's a good man. If anyone can keep you safe, it'll be him."  
"What's his name?"  
"Agent Brad Colbert. He's FBI now. Very good at his job. He's in the country co-operating with the Russian Desk over some brutal murders at home and in the UK."  
"Thank you, Eric."  
"No need to thank me: as I said, I didn't want it on my conscience. Shush, he's on the phone now."  
"Hi Iceman , did you get my email?" Eric pressed the phone to his ear and started to scribble swift shorthand notes. "That's the sit-rep so far- pretty fucked , ain't it? Yeah , I told him that. I didn't want it on my conscience. Yeah, I told him that. Fucking bosses, they don't change, wherever you go. Well-" he paused. "-It's an opportunity for you. He's going undercover, and you need an 'in'. It's like two birds with one stone. Yeah, yeah , he's here now, of course-" he handed the phone to Nate, to his surprise. "Brad wants to speak to you."  
"To me?"  
Kocher shrugged.   
Nate took the phone. "Hi, Nate Fick speaking. Is this Brad Colbert?"  
There was an amused rumble on the other end of the phone. "I hear you've got a spot of trouble with some 'friends'. Perhaps I should meet up with you and sort out a few details."  
"We can meet at my flat this evening. I'll give you directions."  
He quickly gave him directions to his bedsit in Stockwell and arranged to meet him at 9 o'clock.

 

When Nate went back to his desk after lunch, he noticed Schwetje lingering round his desk with an almost hangdog expression on his docile face.  
"Can I help you, Craig?" Nate said politely addressing his boss.  
The other man shuffled awkwardly. As heat crawled up his neck, Nate had the feeling that whatever his boss was going to say, it was unlikely to be good news.  
"Um, I'm not quite sure how to tell you this, Nate but-"  
Nate knew even before he continued to open his mouth. I would have been screwed without Kocher, Patterson and the guys. Why on earth did I believe that Management would think it was their responsibility to attempt to keep me relatively safe if they were going to send me into a gang of vicious criminals and ask for an expose?   
"This is about the safeguard thing, isn't it?" he said, looking at him.  
Schwetje fidgeted under the direct gaze of Nate's green eyes. "We have to start the surveillance right away, otherwise the BBC will snatch the story from under our noses and we as a company cannot afford that. We're moving the start date of your mission to the 13th to give us a head start on the competition."   
That was even less time than he originally thought. Nate's head started to ache. He was always scrabbling to play catch up and even worse, Schwetje was always changing the rules midstream.  
"That's not long to put my life in storage while I prepare to go undercover." He said, trying to remain calm. "We haven't even sorted who is going to support me on the mission. I am going to have office support, aren't I? Apart from Meesh-"  
Schwetje looked ruffled. "Of course Nate, we aren't going to leave you hanging out to dry. Didn't I tell you? I spoke to Godfather during lunch and we decided this story is an A1 priority. You can choose your own support team. People you can trust."  
Nate kicked himself mentally at the time wasted. Why was Schwetje always pulling this shit on him? Making decisions that affected him and not even trying to inform him?"  
"-I hope you feel can trust me enough to choose me as part of your support team. Even though I am your boss, I'd like to think you could trust me enough to act in a mentoring capac-." He stumbled on the word. " Er...role."  
Nate looked up suspiciously, the thought slowly occurring to him that Craig Schwetje was not cunning enough to try and inveigle himself into a successful team. Someone had influenced him to ask. Someone with the acuity to realise that if Nate actually pulled it off, the channel would be basking in the high ratings. This programme would be like a shot in the arm for his career. It had to be Griego behind this.  
"Thank you for the offer, but I talked to a couple of the guys. They're even organising a cop to help me go undercover. Just in case I end up in any dangerous situations." He said evenly.  
He could have sworn that Schwetje started to flush, but Nate didn't care. If his boss felt bad because he wasn't doing his job , then that wasn't his problem.  
"I hope you don't think that we've let you down, because that isn't the case, Nate. You're our best graduate and you have a lot of potential. We care very much what happens to you."  
Nate said nothing, though a furious stream of thoughts flowed through his mind.   
But not enough to actually do something practical about keeping me safe.   
 


	3. Strange Bedfellows

When Mia's car pulled up outside Nate's tiny ex-council flat, he noticed a huge bike parked right outside in their usual parking space.  
"Bloody boy racers. Now We'll have to search for another parking space." Mia tutted, mouth pulled into an unimpressed line for a moment on her mobile face. "When did that agent guy say he was going to meet you again?"  
"Nine o'clock."  
Mia looked amused. "It's only seven. Why were you in such a hurry to get home?"  
"I didn't want to be late. He's doing me a favour, so it'd be rude to keep him waiting." Nate stopped himself , knowing that he was making excuses and sounded like it too.  
"Right."

Nate pulled out his key and unlocked the door. "The place is a bit of a mess. I haven't had a chance to tidy up yet. I'm going to have to put all this shit into storage." He sighed at the thought.   
"When do you start. Not long is it?"  
"Godfather wants me to start early. The 13th. "  
She shook her head. "That's no time at all."  
A loud knock on the door interrupted her musing.   
"I'd better get that."  
Nate opened the door on the chain out of sheer habit. It wasn't that Stockwell was a very rough area in comparison to Harlesden and Stonebridge, but he'd learnt there was no harm in being cautious, especially in London. You never knew what was round the corner. All it took was one crack addled fiend looking for the cash for another fix, one 'rude bwoy' trying to prove a point to his brethren and you had trouble. Nate kept his aluminium baseball bat close to hand , just in case.   
"Brad Colbert. I'm here to see Nate Fick."  
He recognised the voice from his phonecall. Deep and reassuring, with an accent that even after several years away from the States reminded him of the West Coast and home.  
"Come in." He opened the door and stared for a long moment. Whatever he had been expected Brad Colbert to be like had no match to the reality stood on the doorstep, all blond and tall and imposing. "You're early. I wasn't expecting you 'til nine o'clock." Brad strode past him and sat down on the couch, folding his large capable hands in front of him.  
"I wanted to check you out. See what I'm getting myself involved with."  
"Are you sure you'll be OK, Nate?" Mia asked, getting her bag and leaving with a curious look at Colbert sprawled arrogantly on the couch. "You don't want me to stay?" "No, I'll be fine. You and Mike don't need to worry."  
"OK-" she said dubiously , with another look at Brad. "Call me. Or search me out if you're coming in tomorrow."  
"I will, I promise."   
"Are you a very trusting person by nature?" Brad said, as soon as she'd gone. He looked round, his sharp blue eyes looking round the flat, taking everything in.  
"Not really."  
Brad's smile widened slightly. "You should have asked to see my ID." He pulled it out of a pocket and spread it out in front of him. "Agent Brad Colbert. FBI."  
"I knew who you were, you know."  
"I know you did , but you're going into a very dangerous situation. You have no idea of who you can trust. It's best to start getting into the habit now rather than later."  
Nate counted himself suitably reprimanded and stayed silent.  
"Kocher gave me a couple of details when he sent me that email, but I'd like to hear about it from you. Your bosses did brief you as to what they wanted you to do?"  
Nate tried to ignore the feeling that Brad was needling him for his own amusement. That smile wasn't reassuring him. "I've been asked by my bosses to infiltrate a family alleged to be members of the Vory v Zakone. He wants to do a series of programmes about them."  
"And you're the sucker who ended up having to risk his hide to get the evidence. Did they tell you how dangerous this assignment was going to be?"  
"I do know a bit about the Vory. I studied Russian Language and Literature at university. I wouldn't say I was an expert, but I have some idea what I'm walking into."  
"So why do you want to help me?"  
Brad's smile was grim yet wicked. "Well, firstly I need a 'in' to get close to the family, and you'd be perfect. I've been chasing these bastards for a long time and if I can get something concrete to pin on them I'll be happy." He said. " –And secondly, I feel a bit responsible to keep you safe now."  
"Do you have any particular plan as to how we're going to do this? I've never done an undercover mission."  
"Never done?" Brad looked perplexed for just a moment. "You're not being serious."  
"I graduated six months ago from the graduate scheme. This is the first undercover mission I've ever done."  
"Jesus Christ. Just graduated. Never done a mission before." His eyes closed for a moment. "Like a fucking lamb to the slaughter."  
"What we'll do is you'll move into the house with the rest of my team. Act as our housemate. If you're determined to get a job at this restaurant and start your mission it won't be implausible if one of us turns up to keep an eye on you. Are you planning to lay down some surveillance?"  
Nate nodded. "If I can. Might be difficult, but I'll see what I can do once I'm there."  
"And you're going to translate the audio intel as well."  
"Work have employed a translator to help out, but I'll probably end up doing most of it."  
"Good." Nate caught the look, which plainly said: At least you won't be completely useless.  
"How long will it take to get all this packed up?" Brad asked, indicating at the lived in flat. "I imagine you'll want to start straight away."  
"I won't take everything. Mia's going to housesit for me while I'm away."  
"Make sure she takes steps to defend herself. If anything happens to you she'll be next on the hitlist. I'll try and see if I can organise a detail to keep an eye on her as well."

Riding pillion on the back of Brad's bike was quite an experience for Nate. He clung tight to his broad leather clad back , trying not to think about how fast they were going, the town slipping past them as if in a dream. He remembered what Brad'd said before he'd got on the bike.  
"You have to move with me. Lean subtly when I move. Like a dance."  
He didn't know what it was. The vibration of the bike, or the close proximity of Brad's hard lean body to his. Or maybe the fact that it had been a long time since Nate had been attracted to anyone let alone acted upon it, and his libido had picked a fine time to wake up and torment him. He gritted his teeth and hoped against hope that it would go down on it's own and that he wouldn't notice Nate's erection which was surely digging into his back.  
They stopped at the traffic lights, and Nate tried to get his breath back and his body back under control. Self-control, Nate. I can do this.  
"Are you all right back there?" Brad asked. "It can be a bit disconcerting the first time on the back of a bike."  
"I'm fine." Nate said hastily.  
Brad just looked at him for a moment speculatively , before the light changed and they set off again.  
Brad didn't say anything as they got off the bike, even though Nate's face flushed with tell-tale mortification willing his erection to go down before he had to be introduced to Brad's housemates.

"Hey, honey I'm home." Brad called as they got into the hallway and through to the kitchen. "I hope you boys've been behaving and not wrecked the place."  
Nate saw a dark wiry man fiddling with parts of a radio on the kitchen table. His head was bent so Nate couldn't see his face but he was still managing to have an animated conversation with a tall stocky Hispanic man who was leaning against the kitchen counter with a smirk on his face.  
"Hey Brad, we were just talking about you." Ray said, his dark eyes sparkling with impish mischief. "Who's this?"  
"Hey dawg, give the man a chance to catch his breath." said the other man, his teeth showing white in his dark face. "You must be the journalist."  
Brad made a gesture to Nate. "This is the guy that Eric phoned me about. We're starting the operation soon and I thought it would be best if he moved in for a bit so we could keep an eye on him. He can stay in the attic room; that's empty."  
"New Housemates. That's exciting!"  
"What's your name, Dawg?" the other man asked.  
"Nathaniel Fick." He shook his hand.  
Ray gave a low whistle. "You must be a crazy motherfucker. To go undercover and infiltrate the Vory v Zakone. Not many people would have the balls to do something like that."  
"Ray, what have I told you about shutting the fuck up?" Brad said wearily without rancour. Nate got the strong feeling he said this or something like this several times a day.  
Ray didn't seem remotely offended by Brad's rebuke. "What, dude? You know I always tell it like it is."  
Brad ignored him."Nate, this is my team. This mouthy little fucker is Ray Person."  
"Hi!"  
"This is Tony Espera."  
"Ain't nobody call me that but my Gina. Call me Poke, everyone else does."  
"Where's Walt?" asked Brad.  
"In the shower, I think."  
"We're having a team meeting when Walt gets out of the shower. We need to have a plan if we're going to do this."


End file.
